Eight Legs

I used to play with spiders.

I would throw insects,
Into their webs:
Miniature sacrifices
To a child-size
Aztec pantheon.

Sometimes I would tease them
With twigs, twine, and debris –
Mock bugs sacrificed in effigy.

Then the dreams.

Perhaps I offended
Some arachnid god
With my impiety.

There were carpet crawling swarms.
There were things the size of dogs.
There were things the size of houses.
There were other things,
Worse things.

When I startled myself awake,
They would often scurry
Out of the nightmares:

I could feel them
Crawling between my sheets.

I envy arachnophiles.
I wish that I could see
Through their eyes,
Through my former eyes,
The graceful, beautiful efficiency,
The cruel indifference,
The magnificence.

But I can’t.

My Hell
Has eight legs.

In the Corner

We don't talk about it
For fear that it might hear us.

It's over there
In that corner —
No, don't look at it!

We try not to think about it,
But we can't help ourselves.

It's taken too many of our friends.
I have felt it's eyeless gaze.
I know that it's going to take me.
It's going to get you, too.

Listen,
I have a plan.

You and me,
We're going to steal its scythe.